


Stray

by DoeEyedDarling



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Food is People, Jane Doe - Freeform, Like, Mystery, Other, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, from when i was 15 years old, this is a REAL old one y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:52:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoeEyedDarling/pseuds/DoeEyedDarling
Summary: Winston isn't Will's only discovery that night - he also picks up a wreck of a girl with frightened eyes, no voice, and no history. Fragile and family-less, Will and Hannibal take her under their wing. But, unfortunately for her, the two men are about to engage in a deadly battle - and every war has its casualties.





	1. Chapter 1

He would never have noticed her, her slim frame silhouetted against the woods, if it weren't for her eyes. Wide, dark, and frightened, they reflected the headlights, catching his attention, driving him to pull over and step into the road. As he rounded the car, his eyes travelled down her body, taking in the way her thin, tattered clothes hung off her, the way the bruises and cuts decorating her skin were accentuated by the shadows of the trees. She stared at him like a deer in headlights, frozen in terror.

"Are you okay?" His voice was slightly raspy, but comforting all the same. He held out his hand slowly, gently, as though approaching a wounded animal, stopping when she began to back away.

With the closer proximity, he could see that she was trembling. Whether it was from fear or the cold, he was unsure, but either way, he was determined to get the girl into the car. If he called Jack, odds were she'd bolt, and he didn't want to take that chance. "My name is Will. Will Graham." She nodded slowly, silently. "You can't talk?" She shook her head. He misinterpreted the action as a confirmation of her inability to speak, and she let him. In reality, she could talk perfectly well - she just didn't want to.

She hadn't made a run for it yet, a reassuring sign. He took a tentative step forward, and then another when she didn't move, his hand still extended. After what felt like an eternity, she stepped forward and placed her hand in his, still shaking, and he let out a sigh of relief. "I, uh, hope you're not afraid of dogs," he said sheepishly, opening the door to the passenger seat and helping her in. She shook her head again, her lips curling up slightly as she caught a glimpse of the mutt in the backseat. She reached back, and, after sniffing her hand uncertainly, the dog rubbed his head against her affectionately. Will smiled at the exchange. "He likes you."

As they drove, she analyzed his appearance, from the unruly curls to the thick, black framed glasses. Ultimately, his eyes were what had led her to trust him. In them, she saw that he understood her pain, the sleepless nights and dull, fear-filled days. He knew it all, and that was, in a strange way, comforting to her.

She was surprised, but relieved, when they pulled up in front of a house instead of a hospital. It was small and safe-looking, the brightly lit porch as promising as a lighthouse to a sailor on a stormy night. When they entered, they were greeted by a cacophony of barks and yaps as the dogs swarmed around them. Will guided her through the canine crowd to the bathroom, and left her there, providing her with a couple of towels and some oversized clothes, before heading back to the truck to take care of the new stray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some overly-angsty Hannibal fic I wrote as an overly-angsty 15-year-old after binging the first two seasons of this beautiful show! *yeets this monstrosity at you*
> 
> Unedited for posterity's sake, because it interests me to look back and see how my writing has changed/stayed the same. I don't own anything in this story except my OFC.
> 
> Kudos, comments (we love some good good constructive criticism), etc, always welcome!
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	2. Chapter 2

When he got in from the porch, Will found her on the couch, asleep, damp hair soaking the fabric of the shirt she was wearing. He knew he should call Jack, or at the very least wake her up and try to find out more about her - her name, for instance, or how she'd ended up on the edge of the highway alone and covered in bruises - but she just looked so damn  _ peaceful. _ Will knew better than anyone how rare a good night's sleep was for someone plagued by bad dreams - he had no business taking sleep away from anyone else. Besides, he had a feeling that this woman had already seen her fair share of nightmares.

He'd only been asleep himself for an hour or so when he heard the scream. Bolting down the stairs, he looked across the sea of sleeping dogs to see her thrashing on the couch, moaning and crying in distress, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was a miracle she hadn't fallen off yet.

"No, please.  _ Please." _

Upon hearing the last word, Will started across the living room, intending to wake her up, but someone else reached her first. Winston, woken by the sound of his new owner's footsteps on the stairs, had wandered over and nuzzled the girl's outstretched hand, an echo of their encounter in the car, before jumping up to lie next to her. In her sleep, she wrapped an arm around the dog protectively, quieting down so that the only noises to be heard now were her snores.

_ So she _ can _ speak. _

He hesitated, peeking at his watch.  _ Is it worth it to wake her up now to get her to talk? _ He looked back at her. Winston, as though sensing the glance, raised his head to stare back at Will, his eyes dark and solemn above the woman's sleeping figure.

_ Don't you dare, _ he seemed to be saying.  _ Let her rest, at least for now. _

Will paused once more before turning back to the stairs. Any questions he had to his mystery guest could wait until morning.

* * *

"Jane Doe, estimated age mid to late twenties. Multiple cuts and bruises, broken rib, must have punctured her lung."

As he listened to the medical report, Will felt himself go numb.

_ He'd come down that morning and seen her on the couch, the golden haired dog still curled up beside her. _

"...may be infected…"

_ He touched her shoulder, trying to wake her up. It was then he noticed that she'd stopped breathing. _

"...standard procedure, no more than an hour…"

_ Will didn't realize that Winston had followed them into the car until the hospital receptionist raised an eyebrow and informed him that dogs weren't allowed. _

"...now?"

Will blinked a few times, returning to reality, and saw the doctor staring at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Would you like to see her now? Before she's admitted to surgery."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

She was asleep when he went in, her hair lanky and thin against the pillow. The harsh lighting of the hospital did not suit her - under it, her skin took on a bluish tint, and the bruises stood out against it magnificently. If it weren't for the steady beep of the monitor next to her, Will might have thought her dead, just another corpse, just another victim.

_ But whose victim? _

For reasons he could not understand, Will could not reconstruct the events that had led up to him finding her. Obviously she had been attacked, and traumatized, in some way, but he had no idea who attacked her, or why, or where, or when. Perhaps it was the fact that she was, despite her appearance, still alive.

"E-excuse me, sir?" Will jumped, turning around to see a nurse standing in the doorway, nervously glancing around the room. "I-I'm sorry to interrupt y-you, but you can't be present for the s-surgery."

"Of course." Will left the room, unsure of where to go next. According to the first doctor, he had about an hour before the surgery was over, and longer than that before the girl would be in any condition for him to question her.

He did not expect to end up, of all places, at Hannibal Lecter's front door.

* * *

"Will." The doctor looked unsurprised. 'Please, come in. And who is this?"

Will looked down, realizing he'd forgotten to drop Winston back at the house. "I'm sorry, I meant to leave him at home, I just…" He trailed off, looking as lost as he felt.

"No need to apologize. Is it about Abigail Hobbs?" As the two men sat down at the kitchen table, Winston curled up by Will's feet.

"No, actually, it's uh...it's complicated."

When Will finished explaining the situation, Hannibal leaned back, his expression betraying no emotion. "And you haven't told Jack?"

"No, not yet."

"Why not?"

Will paused, considering. "He'd expect me to have...answers. To be able to figure out some part of what happened to her."

"And you can't do that?"

"No, I - she's not like any other victim I've had to - had to reconstruct the death of. She's alive, very, very much alive."

"Yet you've had nightmares about killing Abigail the way her father tried to."

"Yes, but…" Will ran a hand through his hair, agitated, trying to come up with a viable explanation. "I was there. I saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs, I saw what he tried to do to Abigail. If I hadn't…"

"She'd be dead," Hannibal finished. "In that way, Abigail Hobbs and your Jane Doe are very much alike. Were it not for your interference, they would both most likely be dead."

"I know. But with my...my  _ Jane Doe _ , I didn't see anything except for her. I didn't see where she was, where she came from, who put her in the condition she is now. With Abigail Hobbs, I can see everything, it's just extremely hard to watch, knowing that she didn't die."

"I see." Hannibal's gaze flickered back to Winston. "So, what are you going to do now?"

Will glanced at his watch. "I should get back to the hospital." He stood up and walked to the door, Winston at his heels.

"May I come with you?"


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she'd first showed up. Will finally told Jack, and they took DNA samples, ran her fingerprints, checked for any missing person reports that matched her description.

Nothing.

She still refused to speak, her silence eating away at the hours as Will and Hannibal came to her bedside again and again, trying to engage her in conversation. Some days they were able to make eye contact with her, but when they pushed too hard, asking yes and no questions in hopes of receiving a nod or shake of the head, something inside her seemed to snapped. She'd ignore them, her gaze fixed on some unknown point in the distance, tears rolling down the curve of her cheek.

When at last she was released, Will insisted on taking her home with him. There was something he wanted to try, something Hannibal had pointed out - the woman's connection to Winston. She seemed to feel a sort of kinship with the dog, bound by the knowledge that they were both alone, two strays trying to make it in an unforgiving world.

Sure enough, her face lit up at the sight of the golden-furred mutt. Her hair, which had grown and inch or two in the past few weeks and now just passed the tops of her shoulders, had acquired a healthy shine, and her skin had lost it's clammy grey sheen. With the light from the early morning sun streaming in behind her, as she crouched on the floor to comb her fingers through Winton's coat, she looked much, much better than she had that first night.  _ Pretty, even. _

"Hey."

She looked up, surprised, one hand still stroking Winston's back. She did the action naturally, unthinkingly, it seemed.

Will tried to offer a supportive smile.  _ Knowing me, it probably came off as more of a grimace. _ She smiled back, though, her shyness emphasized by the way she didn't push her hair out of her eyes, the way she quickly turned back to face the dog. Will knew how she felt. With dogs, you knew where you stood - they never judged, never hated, never worried about anything but their next meal. Humans were much trickier. It was very easy to make a wrong move, far, far too easy.

Now, he just had to figure out what the right move would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos are love :)
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	4. Chapter 4

“How is your guest?” Hannibal leaned back slightly as he waited for Will to answer.

"She's happier, for the most part. I think the nightmares are stopping. It's just, she won't  _ talk. _ Nothing I do,  _ nothing _ I say is getting her to respond."

"How does that make you feel?"

Will eyed the doctor warily. "Careful, Dr. Lecter, or I might think you're trying to psychoanalyze me."

His lips twitched ever so slightly, as though, for a moment, he remembered how to smile. "I was completely honest with you that first meeting, Will. I am an observer by both by profession and by nature; I cannot turn it off any more than you can."

Will was silent for a moment. When at last he spoke again, his voice was quiet, somber. "They're increasing. Every night, now."

"Your nightmares." It was not a question.

"I used to be able to...not turn it off, exactly, but control it, to an extent."

"You decreased your interactions with other people. The farm, the teaching position, your avoidance of eye contact."

Will nodded. "Exactly. But now, with everything Jack...everything I'm seeing, it's harder to control."

"You resent Jack for forcing you back into the field."

"I wasn't forced." Even before the words left his mouth, Will could taste the doubt in them. 

"Coerced, then."

“I agreed to work with Jack. I let him borrow my imagination. He gave me an opportunity to stop, I refused it, there’s nothing more to be said.”

Hannibal looked for a moment as though he would press the subject further, but quickly thought better of it. “So, this Jane Doe. I would very much like to meet her again.” Hannibal noticed the way Will tightened his jaw, smelled his tension.  _ So he is beginning to care for this woman.  _

_ Interesting. _

“I’m not so sure that would be a good idea.”

“Oh?”

Will went on, not noticing the subtle note of annoyance that entered the other man’s tone. “She didn’t respond favorably to the hospital workers, and she’s still timid around me. She needs more time to adjust before being exposed to new environments.”

“You sound like Alana Bloom.”

Will’s lip quirked up in a crooked smile. “Maybe. I’m just not sure if she’s ready to handle so much at once.”

“You can bring her during your next session. You’d be here with her, and if she grows uncomfortable in any way, you can both leave.” Hannibal gazed at Will steadily, waiting for his consent.

“I’ll think about it.”

* * *

“I see you’ve brought a guest.” 

Hannibal offered a friendly smile to the frightened girl. She peeked out over Will’s shoulder, unresponding, following Will as he entered the office. She flinched at the sound of the door shutting, hesitated before sitting on the chaise-lounge. She didn’t lean all the way back, perching herself on the edge of the cushion, keeping her gaze on the floor, her left hand reaching to stroke Winston. She had refused to leave the house without the dog, pleading with her eyes until finally Will gave in. If Hannibal was surprised by Winston’s presence, he didn’t let it show.

“This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” Will began. “He came to visit you at the hospital, remember?” The woman nodded. 

“And your name is?”

Silence.

“Would you like something to write on?”

Silence.

He fetched a notebook and pen from his desk, then walked over and placed it in her lap. Will merely watched from his spot by the door.

“You do not have to speak, if that is what you wish,” Hannibal said gently. “But it would be beneficial to everyone if you would tell us your name.”

Still no response.

Hannibal sat down beside her, with Winston in between them. “All right, then. Can you write?”

For a long, long moment, the girl refused to look up. Then, just as Will was about to suggest they return home, something miraculous happened.

She picked up the pen and began to write.

**_Yes_ **

One word. That was all.

But it was a lot better than nothing.

“How old are you?”

Will stared incredulously.  _ Why didn’t I think of having her write? _

“You are uncomfortable telling us your name, but could you give us a name to call you by, at least? A nickname, perhaps, or just your first name?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering from the pen, to Hannibal, to the dog, to Will, and to the pen again. Finally, she touched the tip of the pen to the paper again.

**_Charissa. My name is Charissa._ **

She held up the notebook so that both men could see. Will nodded as he crossed the room, crouching in front of the chaise, trying to hide his disbelief. “That’s a beautiful name. Charissa.”

**_The Ch is silent. Carissa._ **

“Oh. Sorry.”

**_It’s ok_ **

“Charissa. Greek, no? It means ‘grace,’” Hannibal commented. She looked up, and was startled by his eyes - they seemed to bore into her, each iris, an unusual maroon color, interrupted by a dot of bright red where they reflected the light. While Will’s gaze was gentle, Hannibal’s was...hungry. There was something about him, though, that she couldn’t help but trust.

He, too, was fascinated by her eyes: they were so trusting, he mused, so open and naive. She untainted, a moldable piece of clay, innocent and breakable and utterly corruptible.

In other words, the perfect victim.


	5. Chapter 5

She stopped writing, ignoring his questions once more. Still, they'd already found out more about her than they had in the past three weeks combined, thanks to the efforts of the good doctor. Despite Will's initial reservations, he realized on the drive home, he was beginning to trust the doctor more and more.

It was pouring by the time they reached the house, and Winston's eagerness to get out of the rain, combined with a conveniently located puddle, led to Charissa being spattered with mud as the dog bolted for the door. Will washed and towel-dried Winston with care, chuckling when the dog shook off the excess water before running toward the living room. The woman was upstairs, rinsing the mud from her skin.  _ No, not "the woman." She has a name now. _

_ Charissa. _

It was strange, linking a name to a face he'd previously labelled "her." She was quiet, unobtrusive, the faint scent of flowers on a summer breeze. "Charissa" seemed so extravagant, too gaudy a name for someone so...delicate.

A gurgling noise sounded above his head, causing him to look up.  _ She must be finished with her shower. I should get food. _

_ Right. _

His cooking was nowhere as fine as Hannibal's, but he did what he could. He had two fish covered in breadcrumbs and in the frying pan when he heard her soft, timid footsteps behind him. As he turned around to greet her, he heard the sound of carpet sliding against wood, followed by a little squeak, and before he really knew what was happening, she was in his arms.

It took a moment for him to process what had just occurred. Through the shirt she was using for pajamas, he could feel her shoulder blades, sharp and smooth, along with the gentle curve of her waist below. Her wet hair was plastered to her back, and she stared up at him in shock, her fingers curled against his chest. She felt as frail as she looked, and for a moment Will wanted nothing more than to protect her, to hold her and shield her from the horrors of the world. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he lowered his head to hers...

As quickly as it began, the spell was broken by the chiming of the clock. Will let go of her slowly, making sure she'd fully regained her balance, and looked away.

"Sorry."

Instead of answering, she, too, turned away, straightening the rug before exiting the kitchen, leaving Will with a pan full of fish and a single thought.

_ What if? _


	6. Chapter 6

Will was awakened by a loud thump in the early hours of the morning, and walked down the stairs to find her crumpled on the floor next to the couch. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought she was hurt, but a quick check proved her pulse to be steady, as was her breathing. 

_What do I do now?_

He could lift her back to the couch, but it was entirely possible that she would fall off again. 

_Better to give her the bed, and I’ll stay down here._

When he scooped her up, he was surprised by how cold she was. Without realizing it, he tightened his hold on her slightly, hugging her to his chest, trying to return some warmth to her fragile little body. Even in the darkness, he could see that the bruises on her neck and arms were still fading; almost gone, but not quite. Funny, they seemed to stand out more at night than during the day. Every time he noticed them, he felt a tightening feeling in his chest, a spark of anger at whoever was responsible for hurting her like that. 

He had tucked her in and had headed downstairs to find extra blankets - even through the sheets, he could see her shivering - when he heard the noises. Little scratching noises, like those of a rat or a raccoon, coming from the direction of the chimney. Forgetting about Charissa, still asleep, he fetched a hammer. Within the next half an hour, he’d broken a pretty good hole in the wall, but no animal. 

"What kind of animal was it?"

Of course, Alana Bloom _would_ show up at that particular moment.

It wasn’t that Will wasn’t happy to see her, but he had enough to worry about himself without dragging Alana into it. And Alana wouldn’t hesitate to worry about Will, no doubt. It was just a part of who she was: warm, kind-hearted, with a deep-rooted maternal instinct that she applied to almost everyone she knew.

He smiled at her. Her presence was comforting, he had to admit. "It might've been a raccoon," 

_"Might've_ been? Well, at least it got out.” 

Will could hear in her voice that her suspicions matched his: that the “raccoon” had actually been in his head, nothing more. He dismissed the thought. “What are you doing out this late”

She shrugged, her hair shiny in the moonlight. "I thought I'd come over, make some noise, shoo away any predators at your door.” She paused to examine the gap above the fireplace. “It looks like you're making _plenty_ of noise all by yourself." 

Will tried to change the subject. "You've avoided being in a room alone with me essentially since I met you. You were smooth about it."

She laughed quietly. "Evidently not smooth enough," 

"And now you're making house calls?" 

"Just a drive-by on my way home.” She stopped, perhaps to collect her thoughts, and Will noticed that the distance between them had been considerably shortened. “Since you're not my patient." 

"No. I'm not," he murmured, and suddenly he was kissing her. It was everything he’d imagined, her lips warm and solid under his. 

She pulled back after a minute. “I’m confused.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “You need to stop thinking so much.” He was about to press his lips to hers again, but halted when he heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs.

Charissa was there, looking much as she had the night he found her - her eyes wider than ever before, dark irises fixed on him and Alana. Upon making eye contact with him, she took a few tentative steps to the side before bolting for the back door, Winston at her heels. Will followed her with his eyes, wanting to follow her, yet unwilling to leave Alana.

“Who was that?” Alana didn’t sound angry or relieved at being interrupted, simply curious.

“A woman I found.”

“You _found_ her?”

He took a moment to explain the circumstances surrounding his discovery of the girl, shaking his head in disbelief when he finished. “Jack never told you? Or Hannibal?”

“They did not,” she replied. She cocked her head, wise brown eyes boring into his. “And neither did you.”

He let out a grim laugh. “It just never came up, I guess.”

“Right.” She took a step back, and he didn’t protest. “Will, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“What? Charissa staying here, or me kissing you?” He was surprised at his own forwardness. “I mean…”

“Either. Both.” She sighed. “I just don’t know if you need the added pressure of taking care of another human being. And as to us...I think it would be a mistake. The way I am isn’t - isn’t compatible with the way - “

“The way I am,” he finished. She nodded.

“I wouldn’t be good for you. You wouldn't be good for me, and I wouldn't be able to stop analyzing, because I have this professional curiosity about you and I am not your patient.” She stopped mid-ramble to breath. “If I were my patient, my advice to me would be: don't do this. I have to follow my own advice.”

“Right.”

“And just...I would be careful with this girl, Will. You don’t know who she is, where she’s from - “

“She needs my help,” he said firmly.

“She needs help,” Alana corrected. “But you also have to consider whether you’re the best person to help her, if you’re capable.”

“I’m...what, too unstable? Is that it?”

“No!” she protested. She looked for a moment as though she might try to reword it, to better explain her meaning, but in the end she simply continued, “I’m gonna go ahead and go now.” 

He nodded again. 

“Goodbye, Will.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a mention of scars! Not as a result of self-harm, but I figured I'd put a disclaimer just in case. Stay safe, friends <3

It was late afternoon when he woke up on the couch, the sky barely lighter than it had been when he'd first fallen asleep. It didn't take long for Will to remember the events of the previous night; a quick glance at the hole in the wall confirmed that it had been real. The dogs watched as he calmly ascended the stairs, then ran down after a minute or two, pulling on his coat and boots before heading outside.

Charissa was gone.

The air was frigid, bitter, almost, a sign of the winter to come, and heavy with the earthy scent of newly-rained-on land. As he shivered under his coat, Will grew more and more concerned. The old jacket he'd given to her to use had still been hanging by the door when he left, as were her shoes, and in the dark it would be all too easy for her and Winston to get lost in the woods - if they'd gotten that far. The sun had nearly disappeared already, making it impossible to find footprints in the damp, rain-soaked soil. He searched for nearly an hour, calling her name, calling Winston's name, yelling until his throat was hoarse and his lips were chapped from the wind.

A bark sounded from a little while away, and his head jerked up. From the woods came Winston, bounding over the hard, frozen ground.

"Hey, there." Will rubbed the dog's head, smiling. Winston grinned back at him, tongue out as his tail wagged. "Where is she?"

Winston cocked his head, as though thinking. Finally, he turned and began to run back in the direction he'd come from. Will chased after him, tripping over tree roots and shrubs, dodging low hanging branches. He stopped where the dog did, and had to squint to make out the outline of her body against the ground.

She felt to him like a porcelain doll as he carried her back to the house - smooth, cold skin, her body as light as to suggest that her very bones were hollow. Even in her unconscious state, he could feel her trembling from the cold, and every so often she would let out a small whimper, her pulse fluttering faintly beneath his touch. Her clothes and hair were both drenched, and tiny, crystalline droplets of water clung to her lashes.

Every time her breathing slowed or stopped, every time she shivered, the ache in his heart deepened, his fear as sharp as though someone had stuck a knife in him and twisted the blade.

_I can't lose her._

* * *

He carried her into the foyer of Dr. Lecter's house without so much as a word of greeting, setting her down gently on the couch. He'd folded multiple blankets around her before putting her in the car, but she was still soaking wet. Hannibal disappeared briefly before returning with a few towels.

"You found her like this?"

"Yes, I - she walked in on me kissing Alana Bloom, and she ran outside. I thought she would come back in, but I was wrong."

Hannibal looked up, two fingers still pressed against the girl's neck. "You kissed Alana Bloom?"

Will nodded. "I've wanted to kiss her since I met her, she's very kissable."

"And Charissa isn't?"

The question took him by surprise. "I - what?"

"She ran off when she saw you kissing Alana, which would suggest that it upset her. Do you think she's kissable, as well?"

"I..." That one moment flickered in his mind, the image of her in his arms, hair slick from the shower, thin frame against his, hands on his chest, mouth slightly agape. "I've never really given the matter much thought," he lied.

As he listened, Hannibal carefully removed the woman's wet clothes, leaving on her bra and underwear. Before he covered her with a towel, he let his fingers drift down to the bottom of her rib cage, where she had three straight, perfect scars on each side. They were not quite healed, thin, rusty lines marring her skin, yet Hannibal could not look away. Despite the ugliness of the wounds, there was a sort of macabre elegance in the symmetry. 

It would be interesting, he thought, to meet the artist.

Will followed the other man's line of vision. "I never noticed those before."

"Yet there they are." Even after being towel dried and dressed in warm clothes, she still shook slightly. Hannibal continued, "On a separate note, I've been meaning to tell you something. I was a bit reluctant to mention this, in fear of violating doctor-patient confidentiality, but a patient of mine, Franklin, believes his friend may be involved in the murders."

"I see." Will's gaze drifted back to Charissa, who was still unconscious. "Jack may send me to investigate him when I tell him the news. If I do, could you - "

"Watch her?" Hannibal nodded. "You have my word."


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal had insisted they both stay the night, leading each of them to one of the many guest rooms. Or, rather, he led Will to a guest room. He offered to see Charissa made it safely to the other room, but the empath declined, insisting on carrying the girl up the stairs himself. Hannibal watched quietly from the doorway as Will deposited her on the bed and pulled up the sheets.

There was a certain awkwardness to the man's movements, as though he wasn't quite sure how to hold her, how to ascend the stairs without jolting her awake. But there was something tender about it, as well, the way he smoothed the sheets over her unmoving form, the way he paused to brush a stray tendril of hair off her forehead before he left.

He made sure to return to the hallway before Will noticed him.

* * *

It had been frightening waking up in the hospital that first day, waking up to the face of a man she barely knew. It was more frightening still to open her eyes and find herself - alone - in a room she'd never seen before. The furniture was ornate, deep mahogany tones against baby blue walls, coordinating with the periwinkle sheets that now rested atop her. The blankets were silky, as were her clothes - also unfamiliar - and on the dark brown nightstand, she found a note, written in handwriting as elaborate as the decor.

_ Charissa, _

_ Will has left to investigate a case. He will be back shortly. Until then, feel free to explore the house. The bathroom is directly across the hall from your room, and I have left clean clothes, towels, and toiletries there for you, if you need. The kitchen is on the first floor. I will be meeting with patients in my office starting at ten o'clock, but please do not hesitate to ask me for anything. _

_ Hannibal Lecter _

Based on the light streaming in, she guessed it was late morning or early afternoon.  _ No need to disturb Dr. Lecter. But what should I..? Hm. _

_ Well, a shower would be a good start. _

As promised, she found clothes, towels, toothpaste and brushes, on the sink, and took pleasure in feeling the hot water cascade down her body. It conjured up old memories of showers past, most taken in bathrooms  _ much _ less refined than this. Still, it gave her a sense of safety.

_ He  _ had never let her take showers.

Just remembering those dark times send a shiver down her spine. To dispel it, she did something unexpected.

She began to sing.

She started off quietly, but once she reassured herself that she was alone in the house, it was easy to grow in volume. She'd forgotten how  _ good _ it felt to sing, how freeing and perfect and utterly  _ right _ . Her voice was rusty, at first, from months of disuse, but took on a clearer, creamier sound as it warmed up. She was still singing as, towel wrapped around and tucked beneath her arm, she walked out into the hallway, as she changed in the guest room, as she tentatively plunked out a few chords on the harpsichord, switching from a pop song to Mozart because everything but opera clashed with the metallic-sounding instrument. She didn't stop for a long, long time, until she looked up to see Dr. Lecter watching her from the doorway.

She froze, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, the song dying in her throat as she stared at the keys. Her blush deepened when, hearing footsteps, she glanced up and saw him standing right next to her.

"May I?"

It took her a moment to realize he was referring to the instrument. She scooted over until she was nearly falling off the bench, and, to her surprise, he played the accompaniment of the song she was just singing. On the other hand, she wasn't completely taken aback; it was reasonable that someone with such refined tastes would be familiar with classical music, after all. He played the intro to the aria again when she didn't sing, and again and again, but she kept her lips sealed, noticing that he had six fingers on his left hand, the middle finger perfectly replicated.

Finally, he left the keys alone for awhile. She kept her eyes fixed on the carpet, uncomfortable in the silence, but not wanting to ruin it by speaking.

He spared her the trouble. "You have a beautiful voice," he said, and she felt the weight of his gaze on her. "You should use it more often."

She expected him to continue, but instead he got up and exited the room, leaving her alone once more with her thoughts.

Although she'd successfully managed to avoid making eye contact with him, she couldn't help but glance at his eyes while he played. They were the same color she remembered, that dark, unsettling burgundy. To her, they were a perfect reflection of the doctor himself: mysterious, forceful, and...seductive, almost, the way he talked, the way he moved. It was flattering, what he'd said, yes, but also a little intimidating.

_ But. Still. _

_ Flattering. _

She squirmed on the bench at the thought, stick figure arms wrapped around her waist. Dr. Lecter's presence had a strange effect on her, no doubt, with his silky accent and his extra middle finger and his wine-colored irises. It made her more than a little uncomfortable.

She hoped Will would return soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello darlings,
> 
> i'm back!! apologies for the LONG wait, and thank you guys for your patience and love
> 
> what do you think Hannibal's up to? let me know your thoughts in the comments. also, you can expect at least 1 more update before the new year :)
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	9. Chapter 9

She ran downstairs when she heard the ambulances draw near, crouching behind a potted plant in the living room to avoid the swarm of doctors and agents, unsure as to what exactly had happened.

"Charissa?"

She peeked out from her hiding spot to see Will at the base of the stairs, looking up as he called her name. Before he had a chance to ascend, she came out, tiptoeing towards him. He caught a glimpse of her out the corner of his eye and turned, relief evident on his face.

"You're okay."

She nodded, stopping a foot or two away from him, but he took a step forward in response, closing the space between them. She inhaled sharply, but softly, as she felt one arm wind around her waist, and his other hand lifted to caress her cheek, smoothing back a stray strand of hair as he did so. It was such a sweet gesture, simple as it was, and she felt her skin tingle where his hand had brushed against it.

"You're okay," he repeated, before bending down towards her, and this time, she leaned up to meet him.

She allowed herself to melt into the kiss, her arms snaking up to meet behind his neck, fingering the soft brown curls. When she paused for breath, he continued to hold her close, planting soft kisses on the tip of her nose, her forehead, her eyelids, before returning to crush his lips against hers.

* * *

He slept with her that night, in the most literal sense of the phrase; arm draped across her waist, his face buried in her hair as she rested her head against his chest. The night terrors seemed to melt away to a plain black background, the dreamless sleep a blessed change from the norm. He'd hoped hers would stay away, as well, but he awoke unexpectedly in the middle of the night to feel her shaking, her face wet with tears as she slept.

"Charissa." He stroked her hair and gently wiped away a few tears, which were quickly replaced. "Charissa."

She jolted awake with a sob, still trembling, and looked up in him in fear for a moment before recognizing him. As she clung to him, her face pressed into the shoulder of his shirt, Will wished he knew why she was crying and, more than anything, wished there were something, anything, that he could do or say to chase the nightmares away.

Hannibal was disappointed, almost, that the girl didn't accidentally wander into his office that afternoon. It would have been a fascinating experiment, to gauge her reaction when Tobias attacked, to see how long she'd last, what she was really capable of.

Perhaps it was for the best, though; after all, he'd barely even spoken to her. He wasn't ready to give up his new plaything just yet - at least, not before he'd gotten a chance to test her out. And after the glimpse he'd caught of their kiss at the foot of the stairs...the neurotic teacher-turned-consultant and the wispy refugee, relying on each other for  _ stability _ ? How wonderfully ironic - and convenient. Before, he'd devoted his time to building a relationship with Abigail, gaining her trust for both himself and Will, believing her to be the man's sole weakness, but now...

Now, it seemed, there was more than one way to break Will Graham.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't often that Will Graham lost his temper. Fear, defensiveness, paranoia - all of these were familiar to him, but it took an astronomical amount of stress to provoke him into releasing his rage. Fredricka Lounds sensed this, and was more than happy to comply, attacking him relentlessly with each new case he consulted on. He had put up with it, to a degree, knowing that if he didn't, he risked his job - and, consequently, the lives of countless future victims.

But there came a day when the curly-haired vulture ran out of comments on his stability - or lack thereof - and turned her pen on a new target.

* * *

"Hello, my name is Freddie Lounds. Is Will Graham at home?"

The young woman standing in the door hesitated before shaking her head. Freddie bounced on her toes as she tried to catch a glimpse of the entryway, her impatience just barely kept in check. "Well, that's just fine. Maybe I could leave a message with you?"

Charissa nodded, stepping back to avoid a collision as the reporter swept passed her. Freddie made it halfway down the hall before jumping back, her lips curling in disgust, as the dogs came running, encircling her the way a pack of hyenas would their prey. "How, ah, cute," she said, tiptoeing her way back towards Charissa, "but is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Freddie drank in the atmosphere of the house, the dim light of the sun peeking through the blinds, the crisp smell of late autumn that mixed with the ever-present scent of dog, as the girl led her to the kitchen. The woman pushed a pad of paper and pen across the scarred, pitted surface of the kitchen table, one hand stroking Winston's head, before pulling out a notebook and pencil for herself. "Oh." Freddie used the tip of her finger to slide the notepad back, before pulling a recorder out of her purse. "Thank you, but I'll just use this. So, what's your name?"

**_Charissa_ **

Freddie glanced down at the name, written in a heavy scrawl, before giving the girl a strange look. "Right. And what's your relation to Will Graham?"

Charissa froze, unsettled.  **_We're friends_ **

"Of course. Well, Charissa - "

She wrote furiously on the pad before shoving it back at Freddy.  **_The h is silent_ **

Freddie smiled politely. "My apologies. Well, it was nice meeting you, and, er, I hope you get your voice back soon. I find tea with honey helps, myself." She shook hands with the girl before turning to leave, a smirk alighting her lips as the door swung shut behind her.

* * *

**WILL GRAHAM'S SECRET LOVER?**

The article, accompanied by a photo of Will and Charissa kissing at the foot of the stairs at Hannibal's house -  _ where had she gotten that from? _ \- claimed the place of honor on Tattlecrime's homepage before the day was up. Will felt the first sparks of rage ignite as he read it over, Charissa perched besides him on the baby blue sofa, Winston at their feet, Hannibal watching from his desk.

They stopped at a supermarket on the way home, and Will could practically see Charissa shrink, curl in on herself in an attempt to escape the merciless stares of their fellow shoppers. It terrified him. She had improved both mentally and physically since their first meeting, but was, clearly, still breakable. The gentle flush that alighted her cheeks every time their hands brushed, the thin curls that hung from her head, her large, soft eyes - everything about her conjured up images of gauze, snowflakes, glass figurines wrapped in silver tissue paper. He himself could cope with life under Freddie's microscope, but this time she had gone too far.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured as they left the store. She shrugged, trying to act as though it didn't bother her, but Will could see the tears that filled her eyes by the time they reached the car. He cupped her face gently, using the rough pad of his thumb to catch the tears that ran over, and pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head. Yes, Freddie Lounds had gone too far.

And she was going to pay.


	11. Chapter 11

When the first photograph of Will and Charissa appeared at Freddie's doorstep, she took it as a stroke of good luck. The identity of the anonymous photographer didn't weigh too heavily on her mind - it wasn't a story she could sell, after all.

The second time it happened, she hesitated before taking the picture to her computer. Because whoever her mysterious benefactor was, they had made the trek to Wolf Trap and hidden in plain sight, for hours, maybe, just to pass the image along to her. For a moment, it crossed her mind that someone with that power, that ability to move unseen, could be a dangerous friend to have; deadly, even.

But only for a moment.

* * *

"This is the second article in a month. Can't you do  _ anything _ about it?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, Will. First Amendment keeps scum like Freddie Lounds alive. It's out of my control."

"But the photographs! Have you seen the photos? That farm's private property. There has to be some way - "

"Catch Freddie in your backyard with a camera and you might be able to press charges for trespassing. That's the best I can do."

Will glanced back to where Charissa sat, peering in at them. Jack, following his gaze, sighed. "I know it's hard on her. But you have to admit, Freddie had a point."

Will looked him up and down, a crease appearing in his forehead. "What are you saying, Jack?"

"I'm saying it's been nearly a month, and we still know nothing about this woman. There's no record of her ever having lived in this state, or in any state. Her fingerprints? No matches. No missing persons reports filed with her description." He spread his hands. "Need I say more?"

"She's a  _ victim _ ."

"I don't know what the hell she is! You know I trust your judgement - "

"Do you?"

The two men stared at each other, steely blue eyes against the brown, until Jack finally gave in and broke the silence. "You wouldn't be here right now if I didn't." Will looked away. "Will, look. You said so yourself that you can't get any reading on her."

"I'm not psychic, Jack."

"You got into Garrett Jacob Hobb's head just fine, and now you're telling me that this woman is blocking you? I trust you, Will, but you're not getting anything out of her, and she's sure as hell not talking."

"So you believe Freddie Lounds?" Will asked incredulously.

"Right now, I don't know what to believe!" Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. "Just...tread carefully."

All the self-restraint in the world could not keep the disgust from bleeding into Will's voice as he spoke.

"Goodbye, Jack."

* * *

The experiment had started off well enough - Hannibal had procured the shot of Will and the stray together on the day of Tobias's death, sent it off to Freddie Lounds - anonymously, of course - and watched the events unfold.

The results were even better than anticipated: Will had begun to bring Charissa to his appointments on a regular basis, and although he could not help but cringe at the sight of the dog sinking its claws into the plush, expensive silk of the powder-blue couch, Hannibal drank in the sight of the shy, timid girl.

There was something... _ off _ about the balance of her features: eyes that were too big for her face, lips bearing an exotic shape that didn't match the rest of her plain-Jane appearance. She was not beautiful, but ghostlike, rather, captivating in her evanescence - Hannibal could not help but watch her every move for fear that she would cease to exist if he looked away.

He could see, in Will's treatment of the woman, that the empath felt the same way. It was different, though - Will looked to pull himself together by first mending Charissa, while Hannibal was caught up in deciding how to best shatter her. Without Charissa, Will would become completely vulnerable, which was what Hannibal wanted; if taken at the wrong moment, however, her absence had the potential to completely dismantle him. Hannibal needed Will raw, but still human; lost, but still pliable.

The second article was what caught him off guard. It featured another photo, this one of the two in the woods near the house with Winston, the woman crouching down to scratch the dog's ears, smiling up at the man with a quiet exuberance. It was, without a doubt, a beautiful shot, masterful in its use of the given elements.

But it was not Hannibal's.

Whose it was, he did not know. It simultaneously amused and irked him, that someone would attempt to follow in his footsteps in such a clumsy manner. Did they really not think he would notice?

On the other hand, perhaps it was intended as such. A calling card, of sorts.

A knock at the office door pulled him back to the present. As he walked to answer it, a thousand scenarios played out in his head, infinite possibilities based on a single moment.

None of these imagined outcomes, however, prepared him for what he found on the other side.


	12. Chapter 12

"Charissa"

She swept past without acknowledging his presence, not even a nod in response to his greeting. His grip on the door handle tightened at this show of discourtesy, but he restrained himself, about to close the door, when -

_ Ah. _

She  _ reeked _ of fear. Not her normal aura of hesitancy, but a sharp, bitter scent that clung to her clothes and hair and lingered by Hannibal long after she'd sat down in Will's usual seat. By the way the dog cowered at her feet, it was clear that Winston had noticed, as well.

Hannibal gave the room a once-over before gently shutting the door "You came alone?" Behind the courteous façade lay a strain of genuine curiosity.  _ What would scare her so much that she would leave Will?  _ The answer came easily. "He blacked out. Lost time."

She nodded. 

"He didn't remember you?" 

Another nod. 

Hannibal showed no signs of concern, merely adjusting his position in the chair. "Do you know where he is now?" He received nothing in response but a shrug before Charissa pulled a notebook from her bag. 

**_I left him at Jack's office. I was scared, they were fighting, and when Will came out he just looked right through me._ **

“I’m sorry. If you wish, we could move over to my apartment, to the living room. You may be more comfortable there.” 

* * *

They settled in the kitchen, she on a stool, he behind the counter. “Tea?” He moved to the kettle without bothering to look for a nod. “It must be difficult. Pursuing a relationship with someone like Will.”

**_It is, sometimes,_** she wrote. She slid the notebook across the counter, yet Hannibal appeared not to notice, instead going about his business in the kitchen. He had fascinating hands, she noted, his fingers displaying a subtle strength as he prepared the tea.

She waited, patiently, for him to turn to her, glance at her, continue the conversation, repeat the question...something, anything. But it soon became clear that he had no intention of doing so. 

_ Of course. He  _ would _ do something like this.  _

“He doesn’t know that I know.”

He glanced back, nearly surprised, before turning back to the task at hand. “That you know what?”

Charissa bit her lip. She’d expected shock, astonishment, any reaction but the one she’d just received. “About the sleepwalking. The blackouts, the, uh, ‘lost time.’”

“I see,” he replied, placing a cup of tea -  _ Camomile? Mint? _ She couldn’t quite place the scent - on the counter. As she drew the steaming beverage towards her, inhaling sharply at the burn of the first sip, he seated himself across from her. “I assume he is also unaware of your...vocal capabilities.”

She nodded, wincing as the dull, bitter flavor registered on her tongue.  _ Perhaps it is an acquired taste. _ “He deals with enough pressure as it is. From Jack. From Freddie Lounds.” She paused for another sip, before adding, “From you.” He bristled at her tone. Such rudeness was aggravating, even from such a delectable plaything as the creature before him. “He doesn’t need to worry about me. All of those questions, the constant wondering…”

“You don’t know.”

“What?” Her eyes lifted, and were immediately trapped in his scarlet gaze. All at once, something clicked behind her eyes. A memory. She knew those eyes, although in this recollection, their crimson depth held mirth, not cunning. And the voice that accompanied them was different. Younger.

_ ”Ein Männlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm…”  _

She squeezed her own eyes shut, waiting for the memory to solidify, for more details to fall into place. But the more she tried to focus, the quicker it fled, slipping from her grasp like sand through a sieve.

“You don’t remember your captors.” Dr. Lecter’s voice brought her back to reality, completely shattering the memory. She blinked.

“That’s...not  _ entirely _ true.”

He swallowed back a smirk as he raised a cup to his own lips, relishing in her discomfort. “Enlighten me, then.”

She finally tore her eyes from his, distracting herself with another gulp of strong, earthy liquid. “I have flashbacks. Snippets. A silhouette here, a phantom sensation there - I’m sorry, what’s in this tea?”

“Psilocybin.”

“Pardon?”

“Psilocybin. A psychedelic compound occurring naturally in some species of mushroom.”

Her eyes widened, her vision blurry. “I don’t understand.” 

Hannibal, seeing her knuckles whiten as she gripped the edge of the counter for balance, stood up to help her from the stool to the couch. “The dizziness and nausea are temporary side effects. They should fade shortly.”

Her breathing faltered for a moment, hitching in her throat as the realization of what he was saying finally sunk in. “You drugged me.”

“I apologize for not first requesting your consent. I felt you might object.”

“You felt correctly.” 

When her breaths did not steady themselves, he gently grasped one thin wrist, placing his other hand on the side of her neck, feeling her pulse slow considerably from the norm. “I’m afraid I may have brewed the tea a bit too strong. It is not often I use this particular treatment on a patient, and even rarer on one of your constitution.”

Her eyelids, growing heavier by the second, fluttered as she struggled to look up at him. “Am I going to die?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No. You will be fine. However, perhaps it is best we did not tell Will of this incident. No need for him to know about you speaking, either, if that is what you’d prefer.”

“Fair trade,” she whispered, slipping into a state of semi-consciousness. Hannibal chuckled, before walking to the kitchen and emptying both teacups - one half filled, the other untouched - down the drain.


	13. Chapter 13

When Will came to, he was many things - tired, confused, possessing a sharp ache in his head and feet, lying on his back on the front porch. The dogs crowded by the door from within the house, staring at him. It was then that he snapped out of his half-conscious stupor, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he stood up and grasped the door handle.

He couldn't find her. All through the house, not even in the woods. It wasn't until he returned to the house that he realized Winston was missing, too, as well as any chance he had of tracking her down.

He did find something else, though, as he wiped his muddy boots on the rug. A camera. On the table.

It had not been there when he'd left.

Against his better judgement, he picked it up. Turned it on. Scrolled through the pictures.

Several of the dogs jumped at the sound of metal hitting the floor.

* * *

"Ms. Lounds."

"Dr. Lecter." They stared at each other. Normally, Freddie would've had no qualms about inviting herself into someone's home - it was, in truth, something she did on a regular basis - but there was something about Hannibal Lecter that made her take pause. He was not a man she wanted to provoke.

He did not invite her in.

She gave up. "I have some questions to ask you regarding Will Graham. May I come in?"

"I'm afraid not. I have a patient due to arrive any minute, and I'm booked the rest of the day, as well."

"I see." She forced herself to keep eye contact, refused to fold beneath his cold, hard stare. When it became apparent that he wouldn't break that easily, she pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to him. "Well, when you're free, let me know. I'm willing to be flexible."

He nodded. "Have a nice day, Ms. Lounds."

"You too, Doctor."

When Freddie got home, the first thing she did was run to the shower. But no matter how she scrubbed and scraped, she was never quite able to rinse Dr. Lecter's burgundy gaze from her skin.

* * *

Jack Crawford was not inclined to trust. The position at the head of Behavioral Sciences had come at a steep cost, and he'd been betrayed more times on his way to the top than he would have cared to admit. Will was one of the few people he trusted, as was Bella. At least, until recently.

It was a very un-Bella-like thing to do, having an affair, and he'd pushed the idea as far from his mind as he could. Yet what else could explain her behavior, the odd disappearances and newly lengthened work hours?

His love, however, stayed the same. If anything, it grew as rapidly as his faith in her shrank, and so he left her alone, his potentially-but-hopefully-not-adulterous wife, and turned his attention back on Will.

Rather, he turned his attention on Will's friend.

Girlfriend.

Whatever she was, Jack didn't trust her.

She didn't -  _ wouldn't _ \- speak. Will argued it to be a "textbook sign of trauma," but Jack wasn't so sure. Her silence wasn't that of a victim: it had a  _ presence _ . It hung from her, impenetrable by any force save for her all-absorbing gaze. In any case, it was too strong a quietness to be accidental. No, this girl's silence had a purpose, and that made Jack uneasy. Because until he found out what that purpose was, he would never be able to fully trust Will. And without Will, there was no telling what new crazies would avoid capture, would keep on killing. The Baltimore Hospital for the Criminal Insane had an abundance of cells that were waiting to be filled, cells that, without Will Graham's expertise, would likely remain empty.

Jack needed to get Will back.

And in order to do that, he needed Charissa  _ out _ of the picture.

* * *

The phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Will.”

“Dr. Lecter.” He said it with a mix of disappointment and anticipation. What had he expected? For Charissa, wherever she was, to pick up the phone and call? To break her silence, for him? He could never ask that of her. He wished he wouldn’t have to; maybe then he would be able to rest.

No, he wouldn’t be able to rest. Ever. The nightmares would come back; they always did. He’d close his eyes one night, arms wrapped around the girl, and feel his surroundings melt away to something deadly. Something evil. 

“Charissa is here.”

It was as though the good doctor had read his mind. “Is she okay?” For some inexplicable reason, his voice did not shake, nor did it swell with eager relief; instead, it remained as impassive as he was unstable. 

Dr. Lecter did not reply.

“Doctor?”

“She is all right. Subdued.”

“What - ”

“She was...anxious when she arrived. I administered a mild sedative. She’s sleeping, at the moment; the effects of the drug should wear off in an hour or so.”

“Oh.” He exhaled through his nose, unsure of whether his response should be one of gratitude or concern. Gratitude seemed safer. “Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do.” Both sides went without talking for a few tense minutes, until the silence was so thick it practically leaked from the receiver. “Abigail and Alana are joining me for dinner, if you would like to come over. No doubt Charissa will be hungry when she wakes up.”

“Dinner? Now?”

“Breakfast for dinner. Abigail’s favorite, or so she says.” When Will said nothing, he continued, “I’m sure she would be happy to see you.”

“Which she?”

“Which do you think?”

Will could hear the tick of a clock on the other end. “All right, I’ll, uh, I’ll be right there.”

“I look forward to seeing you.”

_ Click. _ The line went dead. Will realized he hadn’t even mentioned the photos.  _ I should do that. Should I? _ He felt obligated to...yet, at the same time, they seemed like something to be kept secret. To guard and protect, to have and to hold, something he’d carry with him to the grave. Too... _ intimate _ ...to share.

Before he could fully talk himself out of it, he grabbed the camera off the table and shoved it into his coat pocket. 

Just in case.


	14. Chapter 14

Dinner was a brief, tedious affair - awkward, stilted conversation between Alana and the two men until Will, unable to bear the girls’ unfocused gazes and dreamy-eyed grins, made up some trite, simplistic excuse, and left.

She still wasn’t herself by the time they got home. She ignored the dogs as they swarmed around her feet, and closed the door before Winston could follow her into the room. And her eyes - after months of healing, weeks and weeks of long walks and words on unlined paper - they had returned to their former state. Dull. Afraid. And tired - so, so tired. Exhaustion had wrapped itself around her broken body and set her a world apart from Will’s touch. 

He let her be. After today’s events, he knew there was nothing he could say. Or perhaps there was, but what response could he possibly receive? No, not tonight. He accepted her behavior for what it was - a punishment - grabbed a dingy blanket from the closet, and slept on the couch.

* * *

He woke up before her - a rare occurrence. She was always the one to pull on his arm, fully clothed, Winston as her shadow. They’d walk then, with awkward hand holding, and kisses on the nose, and chasing after the dog, and then sometimes she’d smile and he’d be reminded of just how far they’d come.

But this morning, when he woke up, she was not in his arms. It took him a moment to remember why that was. He expected her to be gone, steely anticipation gripping his stomach as he mounted the stairs.

She was.

There, that is, not gone. She had the blanket pulled up to her shoulders, face turned away from the door. And there, in her arms, a pillow - his pillow - close to her chest as though the tighter she held it, the further she could push the nightmares away. She looked calm, here, but as he kneeled by her side, he could see streaks of dry salt on her cheeks, and the little hitch in her breath, and knew that they’d returned. 

_ I should never have let her sleep alone. _

She woke up the way a butterfly unfurls its wings for the first time, her eyes crinkling before opening, consciousness blossoming in her pupils. At first, she just stared at him, which was a bit disconcerting. But the familiar spark had returned, the hazy expression of the night before gone with the moon, and when the corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a sleepy half-grin, he felt relief flood his heart.

* * *

They looked at the pictures together. 

There were six in all. There was the photograph from the second newspaper article, the two of them with Winston in the field.  _ Click _ and there was the porch, her head resting on his shoulder as the two napped with all seven dogs at their feet.  _ Click _ in the kitchen the night they almost kissed - and, prior to that, in the foyer of Hannibal’s house the day they  _ did  _ kiss.

_ Click _ the two again sleeping, this time in the bedroom.

_ Click _ Charissa, on her own this time. No bruises, though her eyes were void of life, and the setting was nowhere they’d been together before. She was in an absurdly frilly dress, cut and draped so as to hide the curves of her body, and she was sitting - posed, really - on a stool. She looked like a doll, like a children’s plaything. 

The date was two months before the night on the road.


End file.
